I sawe angelis with gret lithe
Of seraphynnys order adowne gan sende.
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Þe women, þei sobbid, & mornyd sore in sithe;
Þei seyd, "we leyd hym here with oure hande."
Þe angelis answeryd with wordis rythe,
And seyd, "is not here þat ȝe wende;
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He is resyn, as he ȝowe kennyd,
And in to galalye forthe is prest."
Here chere & comfort gan a-mende,
For resurrexit! non mortuus est!
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(9)
To telle þis tale I hied me fast,
That filius regis. was resyn a-geyn;
Bé a tempille as I forthe past,
I herd wepyng with mechë peyn;
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A woman I sawe þere at þe last
That I first met, with-outyn layn,
Ful doofully on me here eyn sche cast;
But howe sche ferd, fast I gan frayn:
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"A-las," sche sayd, "I am vn-fayn
To se my sone in þis dissesse."
Þan to þat ladi I answerid a-gayn,
And seyd, "filius regis non mortuus est."
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(10)
Seynt thomes seythe, & oder doctours an heppe,
Þat first he apperid to our ladi dere;
His dethe to here hert sanke most depe
For sche was most of his chere;
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So bryth, so gloriouce, þe sonne increppe,
His schynyng merkes here bodi bare,
He salutyd his moder with gret worchepe,
Þat salutacion I herd neuere are,
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"Salue, sancta parens!" I trowe it ware,—
In latyne is wretyn fulle honest,—
"My blissid moder for euer-mare!
For resurrexit! non mortuus est!"
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